The Dinner Date Adventure
by PenmanGrenade
Summary: It's their first date, and Jack is freaking out. -Janto-.


~Hello there! Penman Grenade here. This is my first published story, but not my first story by a long shot, so feel free to flame. This is un-Betaed, un-Brit-picked, and I probably got everything wrong pertaining to Torchwood, anyway. I don't know how many centuries Jack has been around, I don't know Ianto's favorite food, I don't know where they live, I don't even know if Ianto owns a car. This is just my take on things. I feel like, for their first date, Jack would have been freaking out. He obviously loves Ianto more than anyone else he thought he loved, so he would probably freak out and become something like a perfectionist mixed with a hyperactive puppy. ~

10-4. Penman Grenade

Romance should be easy for someone as old as he is. Really, it should. Surely he has garnered enough experience on the subject by now?

But he, a man who had successfully seduced hundreds of men and women (and other), was now beaten by one measly man. Ianto Jones, he decided, was an enigma, a force of nature, as it were. His mere presence made Jack shake. His gaze made Jack stutter. And his voice, his accent, did things to Jack no human voice should be able to do. Jack thought that he had appeased these stupid feelings by asking Ianto out (in a very manly, non-stuttering way, he would like to add), but no- that was just the first step. Which brought about the thought, just how many steps would there be? It was a very scary thought.

And that is why Jack is here now. 'Here' being his kitchen. Cooking, obviously (What else does one do in a kitchen but cook? The possibilities made his head whirl. But no, that would come later. Maybe. Hopefully). Now, Jack does not normally cook, except for special occasions. And this, he decided, was a _very_ special occasion, if not_ the_ special occasion.

It was quite a sight. Jack dashed around the kitchen in constant motion, tending to pots and pans, while Elvis (the most romantic music he could think of, duh.) crooned through the static in the background from his old transistor radio. The sound faded out in a wave of white noise, and Jack huffed, thunking the radio once to get it working. _'If you do this while Ianto is over, it's the garbage can for you'._ He straightened up, smoothing his pink, frilly apron (a gift from his last girlfriend… in 1965… and _wow_, was that girl ahead of her time.), and sighed, going over the checklist in his mind. Appetizer, entrée, and dessert -after having made sure to include Ianto's favorite foods (he thought back on how he had figured them out -a black ninja outfit still hanging in his closet, and scuffmarks on his knees that had lasted for days- and smirked)- had all been cooked to the closest to perfection a man with Jack's temperament could reach. No coffee though. _Definitely_ no coffee. His pitiful attempts would simply insult Ianto, and then he would undoubtedly take over making the coffee, and it simply wasn't fair to have him working - on _anything_ -tonight. No, tonight was all about pampering Ianto. Hell, Jack would spoon-feed him, if he thought Ianto would allow it (he probably wouldn't, so Jack entertained the thought for a while longer, before giving it up with a wistful sigh).

When the food was done, he put them on heaters to keep it warm, and went to inspect the table he had set out. He circled the set like a shark, fidgeting and adjusting things as he moved. The fork wasn't near enough to the plate, the chair was too far back, etc. now, for the grand finale. Jack went into his bedroom closet, and emerged triumphantly, carrying a pair of candles. Yellow-gold in color, and mounted on bronze plates, these twins were part of a set that he had 'borrowed' from a well-to-do family in the early 20's. He arranged them on the table, moving them a half-inch in any direction for a while before he was satisfied. Jack stepped back from the arrangement, folding his arms and gazing at it with a pride that was normally reserved for toddlers and their crayon-creations. His gaze narrowed. No. something was missing…..but what? He looked over the spread again. He had the food, the candles, the fancy napkins, he had even bought a table cloth, for pity's sake! His train of thought jerked to a halt. -_Flowers_. He had forgotten the _flowers._ He checked the clock, deciding he had enough time to the florist down the street, and grabbed the keys, racing out of the flat, never bothering to remove the frilly apron.

It would be a lie if he said it was the fastest he had ever run in his life, but it was damn close to it (let's just say the Olympic team would be liking him about now). He nearly threw the door off its hinges as he ran in, then sopped on a dime. He fought through the crowd ('_just how many other people had forgotten flowers for their dates tonight?'_), and stopped in front of the rows of flowers. He allowed himself a moment to double-over, panting, then went back to work. He scanned the shelves, growing more desperate as the selection dwindled, but stopped, breathing a sigh of relief as he spotted one. A bunch at the back, white carnations and red roses, marked with the deep purple of forget-me-not's. 'Meaning...', supplied his brain,'...remembrance and passionate love ' (_Meaning _that, after so many centuries, his brain is filled with so much useless knowledge that it hurts). Jack stumbled forward, almost falling in his haste to grab the flowers, then surreptitiously snuck into the line (maybe cutting in front of one or two people) and mentally begged the line to move faster. If his wrist-watch still worked, he would have used it about now, because this was just _that_ important. He briefly contemplated sneaking out with the flowers, just to save time, before deciding that Ianto would probably kill him for that -several times-, and settling back to wait his turn.

After buying the flowers (which, frankly, took far too long for is liking), he glanced at the time.

Shit.

Jack immediately started running down the streets, albeit more slowly this time, to protect his precious package. He must have looked quite a sight- a deranged man sprinting down the sidewalk, wearing a pink, frilly apron, carrying a bouquet of flowers. He briefly registered the people staring (and taking pictures), but he was a man on a mission -the most important mission of his very long life- , and so disregarded such trivial things as humiliation. _'Dignity?_' his mind brought up. _'What dignity_?'

By the time he was back to the flat, he was severely focused, and almost calm. Which ended as soon as he entered the parking lot for his apartment block._ Shit_. Ianto's car. He whipped around, hiding himself around the corner, and watched, panicked, as Ianto emerged. He was dressed in a suit, a little nicer than his usual suits. Jack was lost for a moment, staring at him, until his brain mentally kicked him back into reality. As Ianto bent over to fix his tie in the side-mirror, Jack took his chance, speedily sprinting across to the alley attached to his flat and shoving himself up the fire escape. Only by the grace of god did he manage to scramble up the steps and through his window (sadly enough, this is not the first time he's had to break into his own flat) before Ianto straightened up and headed towards the stairs-the front, and supposedly only entrance-, passing Jack's legs flailing through the side window without a glance.

Jack had just enough time to shove the flowers in a vase-another artifact from the 20's (Jack is a bit of a pack-rat)- and run a comb through his hair before the knock came at the door. He practically threw himself at the door, still panting from his unexpected exercise, only to remember to at least try to look calm, collected, and, most importantly, _sane_. He calmed himself down (mainly his breathing) and swung the door open, choking out a feeble greeting at the sight of Ianto on the other side. Feeling so lovesick it made him actually sick, Jack tried to look as if he had _not _just sprinted several miles and then climbed up a fire escape as he helped Ianto out of his coat. They stood for a moment, staring at each other, before Jack was brought back to reality by Ianto's badly-suppressed giggles. _'What? Have I done something wrong? Does he not like it?_' He mentally started to panic. His desperation must have shown on his face, because Ianto, not even trying to hide his laughter now, grabbed Jack by the shoulders and turned him, so that he was looking in the full-length mirror on his door.

He was still wearing the apron.

-Fin-


End file.
